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Author Archives: sallyinthehaven

‘The greatness of a nation can be judged by the way its animals are treated.’ Mahatma Gandhi.

greyhoundsBefore this week I really knew nothing about greyhound racing.  I have no personal experience of it at all.  I have never met anyone in the industry, have never been ‘to the dogs’ or even watched greyhound racing on the telly.  I only know what I have read and, sadly, that has mostly been horrific accounts of corruption and cruelty, the doping and mass killing of dogs, or live baiting. But as awful as these reports were I think I also honestly believed that the accusations had to have been grossly exaggerated or sensationalised—otherwise how was it that these dreadful things were allowed to go on?

Then last week the Government decided to shut down greyhound racing in NSW following the report of the Special Commission of Inquiry into the Greyhound Racing Industry—(‘The Special Commission of Inquiry found overwhelming evidence of systemic animal cruelty, including mass greyhound killings and live baiting. The inquiry’s report concluded that the NSW Greyhound Racing Industry has fundamental animal welfare issues, integrity and governance failings that can not be remedied.’)

greyhound groupWow.  I admit that the announcement pulled me up short because, in my mind, that meant that there was much more truth to those horrifying reports than I had ever wanted to believe.  It made me feel sick to my stomach.  While I obviously have strong opinions of my own on the issue I am not going to debate the rights, wrongs, political or financial ramifications of the Government’s decision here. (Since I began writing this post the appeals against the decision have already started (sigh) so the debate will rage on with or without my input anyway.) Besides, I would much rather just talk about the dogs.

I have personally only known one greyhound—’Gandalf’ (Gandalf the Grey 🙂 )—and that was years ago. Gandalf, his mum, and his best mate (a tiny little white ‘potscrubber’ of a dog whose name now completely eludes me) would meet up with a group of us every Sunday morning to walk all our dogs along a local beach.

While most of the dogs would immediately ‘go silly’ as soon as they got on the beach, running in circles, barking and chasing each other in and out of the water, Gandalf would initially ignore everyone else, putting all his focus on the straight flat beach laid out in front of him. GreyhoundAnimatedClipArtHe would then take off at full speed (followed at ever-increasing-distance by his little friend, tiny legs going ten-to-the-dozen trying to keep up with him).  When Gandalf reached the end of the beach he would wheel around, with barely a pause, and race back towards us (his pal doing a somersaulting full stop followed by a mad u-turn in an effort to stay with him).  He was beautiful to watch. (Gandalf, I mean.  His little mate, not so much—he was just hilarious.)

greyhound3As Gandalf was my only reference point when it came to greyhounds, and not knowing much about the breed otherwise, I did a quick ‘google’ and found nary a bad word said against them.  They were mostly described as affectionate, cheerful, friendly, gentle, independent, intelligent, loving, quiet, responsive, and sweet—which is probably just as well as the RSPCA is now bracing itself for an influx of no-longer-racing greyhounds in need of furever homes (see article).

But before you all go madly rushing out to adopt or foster a needy greyhound (I am so tempted but, although my own three girls might eventually forgive me for bringing yet another dog into the house (I can just see Mabel rolling her eyes already) I don’t think my landlord would be as accommodating) please do read up on whether a rescue greyhound would actually be a good fit for you and your family.

Here are a few quick reasons why you should consider adopting a greyhound—

They’re quiet, clean, gentle and mild mannered.greyhound

They love to lounge around in their favorite comfy spot (they’re professional ‘couch potatoes’).  They will be happy to lay around all day while you are at work
(some will sleep 16-18 hours).

doggie pyjamas
They are very affectionate and love cuddles.

Their coats are easy to maintain but because of their lack of body fat
they are inside-dogs only and need to have a warm place to sleep.
(And you also get to dress them up in snazzy pajamas for a real reason
—rather than you might just think it’s cute!)

They require less exercise than many other breeds, but they also love to go out on adventures with their family.greyhounds in cars

Their polite and gentle nature makes them excellent buddies for travel
and meeting new people and pets.

greyhounds laughingThey come in a gorgeous array of colours.

They are a robust, healthy, long-lived dog, with a life expectancy of 10-13 years.

You’d be saving a life (and making Mahatma proud)

And two very important reasons why you should consider NOT adopting a greyhound—

Dogs need affection, time, company and security.  If you are unable or unwilling to provide these basic needs, don’t adopt a dog . . . any dog . . . 

If you can’t be as certain as humanly possible that any dog you adopt
will be part of your life, for all of its life,

just don’t do it . . .

greyhound2

NOTE:
The photos I have used in this post are all from the web.
The dogs pictured are all obviously 
beloved pets and although I can’t acknowledge their owners here as I don’t know who they are
I hope they don’t mind me using their lovely images.
🙂
 
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Posted by on July 15, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘It’s pointless to have a nice clean desk, because it means you’re not doing anything.’ Michio Kaku.

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

That might be easy for Michio Kaku to say, but I can quite easily manage to have a lot of stuff on my desk (at home at least) and still not actually be doing much.

I’ve been thinking some more about what I wrote in my last post.  Do you think ‘art stuff’ could be classed as just ‘one thing’?

Because if I have to count every single pen, pencil, paintbrush, ink bottle, rubber stampe, eraserI’m screwed . . . .

img045

 
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Posted by on July 12, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Less is more.’ Ludwig Mies van der Rohe.

shoe addictI was looking for something in my wardrobe the other day when it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t bought a new pair of shoes in months and months and months. Now this may not seem like a big thing to you lovely readers out there, but this realisation was somewhat of a watershed moment for me.  Did I actually need to buy a new pair of shoes over the last few months—absolutely not.  I know for a fact there are shoes in my wardrobe right now that have hardly ever been worn.  But, if I’m being really honest here, when it comes to shoes (and, sigh, handbags) ‘need’ never really came into it.

(Shoes, handbags and puppies—you can never have too many—that was my mantra—although I hasten to add I was always much more responsible when it came to the puppies . . .)

toomuchstuffSo why such a watershed moment?  A couple of years ago it began to dawn on me that I had far too many possessions for just one person.  (I swear the foundations of the house were starting to sag.)  I had (literally) hundreds and hundreds of books, and although I loved them all, some (most) of them had not been cracked opened in years.  I also had drawers full of cds I never listened to, dvds I never watched, boxes full of arty stuff I never used (okay glad I saved that as, yay, am using it now) and wardrobes stuffed with old or unused linen, clothes, shoes, and enough handbags to start my own store.  Not to mention all manner of odd broken bits and pieces that had started to gather together in the garage, along with bucket loads of ‘I-won’t-throw-that-away-just-yet-as-I-might-need-it-later’ stuff.  I was starting to suffocate under the weight of it all.

cleaning outAnd then I came across The Minimalists —two young guys writing about how to live a great life with less stuff. The answer to all my prayers—right?  Well—yes and no.  Although I have always liked the sound of minimalism, and I love the philosophy behind it—I also know that I really like a lot of my stuff too.  Owning less than 100 things was never really going to be a viable option for me.  But the more I read the more I came to realise that it did not have to be an all-or-nothing thing—there could be a happy medium—and over the next couple of years I made slow but serious inroads into divesting myself of a lot of my extraneous stuff.

dogdig1I gave most of my books to Rotary and even managed to not buy more to replace them.  (Well, not ‘proper’ books anyway.  My Kindle now needs two hands to lift it but it doesn’t take up any more space than it ever did.)  I cleared out wardrobes and drawers and gave away bags and bags of clothing (and, yes, even shoes), linen, crockery, ornaments and the like to the local Op Shops.  I’ve thrown away boxes full of ‘WTF did I hang on to that for’ paraphernalia, and even (Sssshhhh—not so loud) managed to bin some of the oldest,  most decrepit (and smelliest) doggie toys without them being missed (Maudie probably still thinks they are hidden in her ‘special place’ in the back yard . . . )

tinyhouseDid I miss any of the stuff I got rid of?  Maybe.  For about a minute.  Out of sight out of mind.  In fact I was happily surprised at how much I didn’t miss it.  That doesn’t mean, of course, that I wasn’t tempted to buy more thingsold habits die hard (and there are so many pretty shoes out there) so before I start to sound all holier-than-thou, let me assure that if I was to try to move into a tiny house today, I would possibly the only one alive towing a tiny house, two garages and a garden shed . . . .

work-progress-post-14479087So, still very much a work in progress and that’s okay.  Little by slow works for me.  I have had a couple of days off work this week and have used some of that time to do a bit more clearing out (it feels a bit like spring cleaning, but it can’t be that ‘cos it’s freezing outside) and I am still finding myself constantly surprised at how much I can look at and say ‘I wonder why I didn’t get rid of that before?’  (Could it possibly be because the local council only sees fit to provide us with teeny-tiny rubbish bins and then only allows the bin-men to come and empty said teeny-tiny bins once a fortnight? Mmmmm . . . )

Anyway, I have decided that ‘Less is More’ is my new mantra (although . . . the puppies . . . sigh )  Whether or not I will be able to stick to that for the long haul it is anybody’s guess, but I have started and hope to go on.  I know I will be sorely tested later today as my friend Pammy and I are going down to Forster for a day’s shopping—and I do still love to shop.

Perhaps it will be okay if I only buy teeny-tiny things that will fit in my future teeny-tiny house . . .

 
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Posted by on July 8, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Vegetables are a must on a diet. I suggest carrot cake, zucchini bread, and pumpkin pie.’ Jim Davis.

Stories from my Sketchbook . . . 

I thought I might try to atone for the sugar-salt-fat laden excesses outlined in my last post and throw some love out there to the humble vegetable.

Jim Davis’ suggestions seem like a sensible place to start . . .

img033

 
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Posted by on July 5, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘If you’ve lost your appetite today, I think I have it . . . ‘ Anon.

animated eatingHave you ever woken up one morning, with no previous indication that there might be anything amiss, and suddenly find yourself inexplicably caught up in the throes of some kind of hypnotic trance, unable to do anything else all that day except eat and eat and eat (and eat . . . and eat . . . and eat . . . )

This happened to me last weekend and it caught me totally off guard.  Friday night I was fine.  After dinner (Penne Pesto Pasta—yum) I cuddled up on the couch alongside my girls (in my trakky-daks and fluffy slippers—me, not the girls) with a nice glass of red (possibly two) and watched ‘Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince’ on the telly.  We were all comfortable, warm and fed.  All was right with my world.  Or so I thought . . .

woman and cakeOn Saturday morning I woke around 5.00am and my very first thought (and I still remember it vividly) was ‘I might go down to the bakers later and buy myself a sticky-bun’.  Say what?  Where did that come from?  I can’t tell you the last time I ate a sticky-bun.  And why a sticky-bun for God’s sake?  I can think of at least three more things right this very second which I would usually prefer to eat in order to sate any unexpected cravings (chocolate, cheese, more chocolate . . . )

And why was I having any kind of food cravings at 5.00am anyway?  I am not a big breakfast eater and usually have to force myself to eat something in the morning.  As it turned out the ‘why’ was irrelevant—all I could think about for the next couple of hours was that I going to get me that sticky-bun.  And, in the end, I did.  In fact I got two—and inhaled them both.

So that should have been the end of it—right?   I had eaten the sticky-bun(s)—I had completed the task—it was time to move on.

Caramello Koala Cake

Caramello Koala Cake

But—No.  It actually all went rapidly downhill from there and I, who have spent years and years diligently (although perhaps ‘diligently’ is somewhat of an overstatement) attempted to practice the art of not eating, seemed utterly unable to control myself.  I ate everything edible I could find in the house—that is everything that did not, in any way, shape or form, constitute a ‘proper’ meal.  (I was so not interested in eating a supernutrient-full-of-veggie-goodness ‘proper’ meal.  I wanted Caramello Koalas—or salt and vinegar crisps—or two large loaves of French bread dripping with garlic butter . . . Blissful sighs)

But this is not my first time around this particular block.  Although it has not reared its ugly head in a long time, this seemingly-out-of-the-blue-food-frenzy is not entirely unknown to me, and I was pretty sure I remembered how it was going to play out.  I would grumpily blob myself down on the couch and berate myself all day with ‘For-God’s-Sake-Sally-Stop-Eating!’ reprimands, and constantly remind myself of all the good work I was undoing—all the while stuffing my face with whatever sugar-fat-salt laden delicacy I had hold of at the time.  And, that is exactly what happened.

sick1As you can imagine, on Sunday I felt absolutely crapulous (I just knew that word would come in handy).  I was nursing a deadly sugar hangover (not to mention a severe case of ‘buyer’s remorse’—those sticky-buns had a lot to answer for) and trying to fathom what had brought it all on.  There had been no obvious triggers.  Nobody had upset me, there had been no major dramas, I hadn’t been fretting about anything—at least consciously.

Subconsciously, of course, is anybody’s guess.  Who really knows what goes on in our little heads when we are not paying full attention.  We think we have got it all sorted.  We practice the things that are supposed to be good for us.  We exercise daily, we meditate, we nurture relationships, we nourish our bodies with good and healthy food—and then while we are sleeping some mean, nasty, delinquent part of our brain slides over to the good, stable, responsible side, knocks it unconscious and issues orders for us to start eating the planet.  It’s all a bit underhand and totally unfair if you ask me.

overeatingBut you know—it’s done, and there is no point bitching about it any more.  I seem to have weathered the storm without too much damage and this week I have had no recurring desire to overload on—well, anything really.  I appear to be back in control.

But we all know appearances can be deceiving and I guess I shouldn’t get too cocky.  If this could all sneak up on me so unawares this time it could easily do so again.  I’m think perhaps I am going to have to watch my back for a while yet . . . and perhaps  drive past the bakers really, really fast . . .

 
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Posted by on July 1, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Camouflage is a game we all like to play, but our secrets are as surely revealed by what we want to seem to be as by what we want to conceal.’ Russell Lynes.

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

Russell Lynes makes a very interesting point here, don’t you think?  It seems to me that this is a conversation that I might like to have at some length—but don’t quite have time for at the moment.

Perhaps I will come back to it at a later date . . . 

spotty

Copied from a newspaper photograph.
(Yes, I know it’s another drawing of a dog—but what can I tell you—I like drawing dogs—
and copying a picture of a dog at least ensures that the creature will stay put long enough for me to finish the drawing.
And also—this picture kinda sorta went with the quote . . .  at least in my mind . . .  )

 
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Posted by on June 28, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation.’ Plato.

platoMy first thought when I read that quote was “Yep, that sounds about right.”

My second thought was, “Mmmmm, I wonder what Plato would discover about me?”

And then I thought (because, occasionally, I do continue thinking) “I wonder what he means by ‘play’?”

play (verb)
1. take part in (a game or sport)
2. engage in activity for enjoyment and recreation rather than a serious or practical purpose.

I don’t believe, at least looking at me from the outside, that most people would consider me a very playful person. In fact, if you were to agree with the first dictionary definition only, I could probably be considered as one of the most unplayful people on the planet.

'I don't wanna play!'

‘I don’t wanna play!’

Because I don’t like to play games.  I never have.  (That’s not an apology by the way—just a fact.)  I didn’t like to play games when I was a kidand nothing much has changed since then.  (I absolutely hated sports days at school where you were put on a team and made to play a game you didn’t want to play, with a bunch of kids you didn’t want to play with, and, to rub salt into the wound, you were actually expected to enjoy the process as well!)  Even now as an adult I’ve never really seen the allure of on-line games, card games, or the dreaded ‘board’ gamesthey’re fun for about ten minutes and then I get bored with them (see what I did there?) and just want to pack up and go home. And I definitely don’t find myself all overcome with excitement at the prospect of watching a game show or sport on the telly.

See what I mean?  I sound like a barrel of laughs, don’t I?

But in my defence I’d have to say that my ‘play’ time runs much more in line with the second definition.  I like to spend my leisure time reading, writing, sketching or watching moviesnone of which really need other active participants.  (I can just see Plato’s notes now —’Does not play well with others’ . . . )

But there are exceptions to every rule—even for me—and although I may not like to play games with other people, I really do love to play games with my dogs.

Molly

Molly

Well—except for Molly.  Molly doesn’t play.  At all.  She was five years old when she came to us and I just don’t think she ever learned how—and no amount of encouragement or enticement over the next four years has made a scrap of difference. She did once—in a mad fit of doggie-bravado—make a tentative grab for a toy that was lying near her, but unfortunately it squeaked at her, and that was enough to send scuttling to the deep-dark-under-the-couch for the next couple of hours.  She has never felt the need to repeat the experience.  (With little conversation and even fewer play skills, I wonder what Plato would make of her?)

Mabel & Maude

Mabel & Maude

Luckily, in the playfulness department Maudie more than makes up for Molly’s (and my) lack.  Maudie was born to play.  Every moment not spent eating or sleeping is for finding something, or someone, to play with.  She just can’t help herself.  She’s noisy, inventive, hilariousand totally relentless.   No wonder Mabel has gone so grey so quicklyhaving a little sister like Maudie must be totally exhausting.  Mabel will join in with a game as long as it is not too boisterous (I am sure she only joins in a lot of Maudie’s games because she won’t get a moments peace until she does) but, just quietly, I think she’d really rather prefer a quiet cuddle.

Maudies ToysBut, you know, be they playful or not-so-much, every day I am grateful for their presence in my life. They are my saving grace. Nothing makes me laugh more than playtime with my girls.  I am sure I would be a sadder, sorrier, and definitely more unplayful person without them (even if  Maudie does stretch the limits sometimes when she saves her loudest toy (her pink ‘oinker’ pig) to play with when I am trying to watch the evening news . . . or brings me the ball to throw . . . again . . . and again . . . and again . . . )

So, all in all, I think my initial thought on Plato’s quote still holds true. It does sound right, bearing in mind that play means different things to different people.

Hopefully Plato would take that in to account and watch me play, both with my books and pencils, and then again with my dogs, before coming to any major conclusions about me . . .

 
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Posted by on June 24, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Part of the secret of a success in life is to eat what you like and let the food fight it out inside.’ Mark Twain.

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

I knew Mark Twain was a favourite of mine for a reason.  

I think perhaps I should take his advice more often . . . .

sandwiche

 
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Posted by on June 22, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘A good speech should be like a woman’s skirt; long enough to cover the subject and short enough to create interest.’ Winston S. Churchill.

queenEarlier this week on the BBC I saw the Queen give her speech in thanks for her recent 90th birthday celebrations, and as I watched I thought how lucky Her Majesty was to have someone on staff to help her write her speeches.  (I am assuming this is the case, because if she had to write all her speeches entirely by herself where the hell would she find time to do anything else?)  

speechwriter

Anyway, assuming the Queen does have a speechwriter I have to say I am a tad jealous.  I could really have used someone like that these last few days to help me with my words.   I have had real problems stringing a coherent sentence together all week.  And not just a sentence in the Queen’s English eithera sentence in any intelligible form whatsoever.  On more than one occasion I have had to stop, take a breath, and remind myself
‘Use your words Sally . . . use your words . . . ‘

headcoldAnd then, towards the end of this week I came down with a really severe head cold—which explained a lot.  While being ever-so-slightly pissed off about this, because, well, who needs it?—I was also quite relieved, as I had been starting to think my brain must have sprung a leak somewhere.  But being under the weather, and seemingly in a perpetual brain-fog, did make me more aware of just how much I depend on my words—and how much I like words and miss them when I can’t find them.

(Well, I like most words.  I don’t like acronyms—and I am not even sure they count as real words anyway, even though they are pronounced as such.  And I don’t like initialisms either, as it turns out.  Did you know there was a difference between an acronym and an initialism?  I didn’t, and I am not really sure I needed to know that either, but there you go . . . )

wineoclockBut, aside from these, I do like to learn new words, and it seems that there are new words being invented and added to our English repertoire all the time.  An earlier update to the Oxford Dictionary (August 2015) had almost 1,000 new words and phrases (including slang) added to it.  Some of these included manspreading, nuff said and awesomesauce.

Happily, the words beer o’clock and wine o’clock also made the grade. 🙂

New words are good (the first 2016 updates are starting to appear in the dictionaries now) but what about the old words?  What about words we never see or hear used any more?  What happens to them?

groakThis week I came across the word Groak.  (I am not sure what I was looking for but ‘groak’ definitely wasn’t it.)  Groak means ‘to stare silently at someone while they are eating, in the hopes that they will give you some of their food’.  Anyone who has ever had a dog, and likes a dinner of sausages on occasion, will be intimately aware of having been ‘groaked’ . . .  So cool that I now have a word to put with that look.

Wondering what other weird and wonderful words I could find I did a bit of research and discovered that there are a huge number of archaeic or obsolete words that have now gone out of fashion.  I have noted down some of the more colourful ones for you (and this is only a tiny selection . . . ) 

bibble:  to drink often; to eat and/or drink noisily
(so Saturday night at the pub, then)

brabble:  to argue loudly about something inconsequential
(probably at the same time you are bibbling)

slubberdegullion:  a slovenly, slobbering person
(someone you know leaving the pub in complete ‘cattywampus’ (see next entry))

cattywampus: in disarray

crapulous:  to feel ill because of excessive eating/drinking
(as in ‘I’m feeling totally crapulous today.’  It seems some words haven’t changed so very much at all.)

callipygian:  Having beautifully shaped buttocks
(Okay nothing to do with the pub . . . unless the barmaid or barman is thus endowed.)

doodlesack: old English word for bagpipe
(Not at all what I thought of I when I first saw this word.)

tittynope:  a small quantity of something left over
(Again, not my first guess.)

borborygmus: sound of intestinal gas
(and we’re back to eating and drinking at the pub again . . . )

Mogigraphia:  Writer’s Cramp
(A signal to wrap this post up? ) 

bagpipeI’m thinking I should send a short note to the Queen, drawing her attention to some of her country’s long forgotten words and suggesting that it might be a good idea to have one or two of them surreptitiously slipped in to one of her next speeches

‘Members of Parliament have been meeting regularly this year, bibbling and brabbling in constant cattywampus, while one lone piper has valiantly piped forlornly on his doodlesack trying to cover the constant borborygmus . . . .’

Perhaps I shouldn’t hold out too much hope for an interview for the next speechwriter’s job opening . . .

 
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Posted by on June 17, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘You ain’t dun nothin’ ’til you’ve Dunbogan’.

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

On the other side of the river from North Haven where I live is the seaside village of Dunboganand the place to go for a great cup coffee with a view in Dunbogan is ‘The Boatshed‘. 

This is a sketch from a photo of the Boatshed.  If I had wanted to draw the Boatshed from this angle any other way than from a photo I would have had to have been out in a tinnie on the riverand that was never going to happen.  But I wanted to do some practice on perspective and this seemed like a bit of a challenge (which it was).  Also note that there are no people in this sketch.  This is never the case at the Boatshedit’s usually packed with people enjoying their coffee and cake and feeding the fish off the deck—but I haven’t quite got the hang of drawing people yet so I just pretended they weren’t there (a little thing called ‘artistic licence’.)  One challenge at a time, methinks . . .

img020

‘You ain’t dun nothin’ ’til you’ve Dunbogan’.

 
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Posted by on June 14, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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